


For the Devil to Dance Again

by androgenius



Series: Jesse-centric [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:50:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgenius/pseuds/androgenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Run, Joey, Run, Jesse can't stop himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Devil to Dance Again

If Jesse had asked her, again, to have sex with him the night after _Run, Joey, Run_ , Rachel wouldn't have hesitated.

Of course, that didn't mean that she'd known what to expect on the bar in ballet, the way Jesse had held her and touched her, seemingly disgusted but so damn territorial, possessive.

He'd been impossibly angry, and now that they're alone, the only two people left in the studio trying to perfect this last move between the two of them, he still is.

He even knows that she'd say yes to him right now, completely at his mercy, but the look in his eyes tells a different story than mercy and forgiveness.

"Jesse--"

"It's just like you to break character during this," he snaps, spinning her against him a little too roughly.

"I just--"

"If you try go tell me you're sorry--" In a second she's on the floor, between his legs, and he makes no move to pick her up again. "I'm going to _prove you wrong_."

It's so dark, so quiet, and without a word, he moves to his knees over her, before crouching down to all fours, just hovering silently over her.

"Jesse, please--"

"You have fucked up my life," he tells her bluntly, his jaw squared in obvious anger as he glares down at her. Rachel might not understand the statement yet-- _I loved you_ \-- but she will, in time.

Jesse St. James doesn't love.

Not until now, anyway.

"If I asked right now," he whispers darkly, letting his fingers trace the outline of her leotard, the seam following her cleavage, right along the swell of her breasts, "you'd say yes."

It's a statement, not a question, and he knows he's right. But he doesn't seem in the mood to ask for anything, his hand slowly tugging one strap off her shoulder before the other quickly follows.

"Because you belong to me," he whispers darkly.

There's no mistaking that tone, and she shivers as he pulls the material over her breasts to touch, demanding, unable to stop the way she shivers, quivering under his touch.

"It would be so easy," he growls against the shell of her ear, leaning in close, grinding his hips against hers, letting his erection press at her sex. "To take you right here, _right now_."

"S-so do it," she whispers, her eyes wide as she stares up at him, just waiting for a reaction. Something-- anything.

Sometimes he hates the confining nature of leotards, the way they make sex impossible, throwing a glare at Rachel-- his throat is unbelievably tight-- as he tears it aside and rips the crotch of the light pink fabric of her tights beneath.

A harsh whimper escapes her as he tugs his hard cock out of his pants, fueled by anger, possessiveness, lust--

Love. 

"I hate you," he grinds out through his teeth with as much venom as he can possibly muster, just before pressing two fingers into her sopping wet core, a harsh cry slipping past her lips as he groans-- partways satisfaction with her obvious arousal, partways his own lust and greed over her body taking him over as he pounds his fingers into her to leave her quaking.

Finn can't do this to her.

Puck can't do this to her.

"I hate you!" he snaps again, pulling his fingers free of her tight core as she trembles beneath him, shaking with the weight of his words and those he leaves unspoken, too afraid for his own good.

I hate you.

_I love you_. 

I hate you.

_I'm so scared_.

I hate you.

_I'm so sorry_.

Aligning himself at her entrance to guide himself into her is easy.

Looking at her face isn't.

Not when all he sees is the same love in his own eyes shining back at him, the same sorrow and forgiveness he wishes to bury in his chest forever, like a betrayal from his own body.

It hurts, and he grabs hold of her under her shoulders as he pushes inside of her in one thrust, the harsh cry on her lips a shrill reminder of her virginity as her legs tighten around his waist.

"Jesse--!"

He never deserved her, not really, and he certainly doesn't now.

Even fighting to keep this impersonal, to remind her that she's just a woman, just an object, just supposed to be _property_ like his father always treated his mother-- he can't.

Rachel whimpers, bucks against him, fights to make this about _them_ , and Jesse feels himself tear up, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he tries to remember what this is supposed to be-- cleansing. A reminder to himself of his position, his stature. His _task_.

Falling in love with Rachel was never part of the plan, and Jesse isn't sure he doesn't hate himself more than he ever hated Rachel.

"I love you," she whispers, just barely as he stills inside her, and he's left unable to bite back a sob against her throat as he clutches her close.

By the time he pulls away and out of her, he'll have recovered himself, look just as stoic as ever.

Determined to go to San Diego and enjoy himself. Fuck other girls, like he's always done before. Forget about Rachel Barbra Berry.

But even as Jesse walks out on her, he knows the thought alone is a fucking joke.

There is no forgetting Rachel, set so deeply under his skin as though he put her there himself.

Maybe he doesn't even want to.


End file.
